


shame

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Caning, Cock & Ball Torture, Come Marking, Crying, Daddy Dom Hannibal Lecter, Daddy Kink, Dom Hannibal Lecter, Established Relationship, Facials, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Masochism, Pain, Sadism, Scent Kink, Sexting, Spanking, Sub Will Graham, Verbal Humiliation, Wrong number
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 07:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: Hannibal smiles, and goes to the contacts in Will's phone. Under the name 'Daddy', his phone has apparently grouped two phone numbers. The first is Hannibal's cell. The second has a Louisiana area code.





	shame

Hannibal tilts his head curiously, his gaze on Will as Will flushes deeply, and won't look at him in the eye. Of course, this isn't unusual behavior for Will, but Hannibal had been very careful and strived to coax Will into making eye contact more often with him, to the point where Will could almost hold entire conversations without breaking it.

Now, though – he hasn't met Hannibal's gaze all evening, and it's starting to come to the point where Hannibal can ignore it no longer.

"Will," he says gently, and Will flinches. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Will hisses, in that tone of voice people use when there absolutely is something wrong. "It's…. It doesn't matter. It's irrelevant."

His tone of voice warns Hannibal against prying further. Hannibal's brows rise at Will's contrariness, and he hums into his glass of wine. Will is positively _soaked_ in the stench of humiliation, and it's a sweet thing, like honey glaze on a ham, so powerful it overrides the scent of the wine almost completely.

He sets his glass down, and Will's jaw bulges, and he looks away. Hannibal stands, and when Will's eyes settle somewhere around his chest, he holds out a hand.

Will looks up, eyes wide.

"Come here, Will," he says, stern and with no room for argument. Will rises, and fits his trembling hand against Hannibal's, lets Hannibal curl his fingers and guide him to the study. He sits, and, with little ceremony, tugs Will into place over his lap.

Will freezes, and lets out a frantic, weak sound.

"I've told you before I will not tolerate you keeping secrets from me, Will," Hannibal says calmly, as he works his hands under Will's hips and unbuttons and unzips his slacks, pushing them down to bunch below his ass, his underwear following and making a thick loop that Hannibal can grab a hold of, if he needs to. "If you will not tell me by choice, I will have to beat the answers out of you."

Will's ass flexes, tenses as Hannibal rests a hand upon it. Despite his obvious anxiousness, he lifts very subtly into the touch. Hannibal smiles, and wraps his fingers of his free hand into Will's hair.

"Count for me," he says, and Will swallows hard enough Hannibal hears his throat click, and nods.

Hannibal brings his hand down sharply on one of Will's cheeks, and Will gasps, flinching away from the touch, trying to retreat over Hannibal's lap. Hannibal holds him fast, and strikes the other one, and Will whines. "Two," he gasps, and Hannibal pauses.

"Two…?"

"Two, daddy. Thank you."

Hannibal smiles again. "Good boy," he purrs, and hits Will on the nearest cheek, watching as he tenses, arches, hisses through his teeth at the pain. His flesh is turning a lovely, light pink, overlaying old bruises from the last time Hannibal had to do this. They're almost faded now – perhaps Will is being incendiary on purpose. His body does love a good beating, likes squirming in place when he can't sit comfortably.

"Three, daddy," Will whines, and clutches at Hannibal's sock, twisting his fingers through it and tugging as Hannibal lays another series of hard smacks, alternating between each cheek until they are both a very, very dark red. Will counts each one, until he can barely stutter the numbers out without them sounding like sobs.

Hannibal hits him again, and Will cries out. "Thirty, daddy."

Hannibal hums, his palm warm and aching, and squeezes Will's ass harshly, jerking him as Will hisses and shivers in pain. "Will you tell me what has you acting in such an unseemly manner?"

Will growls, and shakes his head.

Hannibal sighs. "Very well." He pushes Will off of him, sending him to a sprawling mess on the floor, and Hannibal pulls out Will's extendable pointer from his messenger bag by the side of the chair, pulls it until it's two feet long, and stands. "Spread your legs."

Will blinks up at him, his eyes shining and wet, but he brings his legs together and works his pants down to past his knees, so he can spread his thighs, exposing his half-hard cock and the pale innards of his legs. Hannibal smiles, and steps between them, his feet above Will's clothing so he can't turn and crawl away.

He widens his stance, until Will is spread as wide as he's able, propped up on his elbows. Hannibal extends the pointer a little further, until he doesn't have to bend down to land a light swat to the soft muscle of Will's thighs.

Will winces, and licks his lips. "Do you want me to start from zero?"

Hannibal hums, and raises a brow, head tilted in consideration. "No," he says. It will be more difficult for Will to say the longer numbers, as they progress. He smiles when Will swallows. "Sit up straight, darling."

Will pushes himself to sit upright, wincing at the sting of his tender ass against the carpet. His shirt falls, covering his cock, and Hannibal tuts, moving it so it's exposed again. Will takes the hint, and shrugs it off, letting it pool behind him on the floor. Hannibal smiles.

"Good boy."

He touches the tip to Will's cock again, drags it down to Will's left knee, and then swats, quick and sharp, to his other thigh. Will whimpers, thighs tensing up, his knees lifting as he tries to close them, but he can't because Hannibal is standing between them.

Hannibal lifts a brow.

"Thirty-one," he says. "Thank you, daddy."

Hannibal smiles. "I don't like hurting you, Will," he says, and Will swallows, but dares not show what he's thinking in regard to that statement. They both know Hannibal delights in hurting Will. "Not when I don't know why. You have been behaving very rudely tonight."

He swats Will's other thigh, and Will sucks in a sharp breath.

"Thirty-two," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" Hannibal asks, and punctuates each word with another rap of the pointer to Will's thighs. This is sharper than his hand, of course, and does not bring up bright, wide splotches of pink, but concentrated stings of red that quickly are forming welts. He strikes over three in quick succession and Will whimpers.

"F-forty," he breathes. There are tears in his eyes now, brimming over and spilling down his cheeks, and he looks up at Hannibal like they might be enough to earn his forgiveness. "I don't want to…make you unhappy with me." Hannibal's brows rise, and he steps closer, and lifts a foot, bracing the arch of his shoe over one of Will's injured thighs. Will winces, and sobs. "Please don't be mad at me."

"Tell me why I'm having to beat these confessions out of you, then," Hannibal snaps, patience running thin. He has always tried to be careful and considerate when it comes to Will, but this fact is undeniable – his boy reacts best, and cleanest, to pain.

Will swallows harshly, and leans forward, cupping Hannibal's hand around the pointer. He pulls him close, rubs his tear-stained cheek along the back of Hannibal's knuckles, and Hannibal growls, grabbing his chin sharply with that hand, and slaps him across the face with the other. It's not very hard, but he knows it smarts terribly, and Will flinches.

He sucks in a deep breath, eyes flashing, for a moment, with something wild. Ah, there he is. The thing that takes over Will in moments of deep stress, or deep passion, that speaks openly and knows neither fear nor shame. Hannibal smiles at it as it prowls behind Will's eyes, when Will lifts them, and meets his gaze.

He rubs at his pink cheek, and shows his teeth briefly.  Hannibal gentles his grip, and rubs his thumb along the line of heat coloring Will's cheekbone. "Tell me, darling," he coaxes. "I don't like being mean to you. Just tell me, so we can move on."

Both cheeks flush deeply, and Will's humiliation seeps into the room like an oil spill. Hannibal's nostrils flare, and he growls. He was gentle too soon.

He removes his foot and crouches between Will's thighs, shoves the end of the pointer down until it is no longer than its handle, and holds Will's cock by the head, laying a series of sharp hits to the shaft of it. Will squirms, sobbing with pain, and Hannibal knows he's lost count by now.

"How many?" he demands anyway.

"Forty – forty – _ah_." Will tosses his head, curls his fingers into fists and leans back so he can brace himself upright. "I'm sorry, I don't know, _I'm sorry_."

Hannibal's lips purse. "Perhaps you will be more inclined to tell someone else, then," he says, and turns, reaching for Will's phone in his pocket. Will's eyes widen, and flash with something very close to panic. "Should I call Alana? Or Jack, and have you explain to them why I'm having to hurt you because you won't tell me what's troubling you?"

He taps on the unlock button on Will's phone, and blinks.

There are several texts from a contact labeled 'Daddy', all clustered together. Hannibal tilts his head, listens to Will's heavy, shuddering breaths, smells his pain and his fear, and swipes the phone to unlock. He knows Will's passcode, Will is a fairly simple man and it's the number of his street address.

It opens to a text message chain, and he scrolls to the top.

"Daddy, I need you."

Will's hand reaches out and tugs on his suit pants. "Please," he begs, eyes wide and wet. "Please don't read them."

Hannibal huffs, and places his foot against Will's chest, forcing him down. Will whimpers, and shuts his eyes tight, turns his face away, his cheeks burning. Hannibal keeps reading.

"What is it, Will? What's wrong?"

"I just. Can't stop thinking about you. I miss you."

Another text, also from Will; "I need you, daddy."

"Will, you're starting to worry me. What's going on?"

"I just need to see you. Please. I want you to put me on my knees and choke me. I need you to hurt me, want you to fuck me until I scream. Please daddy.

I want your cock.

Wanna be your good little boy."

Hannibal tilts his head to one side, because he didn't receive any of these messages. The thought of doing so warms him wonderfully, and if he had been on the receiving end, he would not have hesitated to do exactly that.

But…

"…I think you have the wrong number, son."

Will stopped answering after that.

"Will?

Will, it's okay. I mean, I'm not…

Will, hey, let's just forget about the whole thing."

Hannibal smiles, and goes to the contacts in Will's phone. Under the name 'Daddy', his phone has apparently grouped two phone numbers. The first is Hannibal's cell. The second has the Louisiana area code.

"…Oh," he says.

"It was my fucking father," Will says, in a way someone does when they're trembling so much that they appear flat and static. "I texted my fucking father that I wanted to choke on my daddy's dick."

Ah, the humiliated scent is back. Hannibal's mouth waters – it's delicious.

He closes Will's phone, and tosses it onto his chest. Will grabs for it blindly, holding it in white knuckles. "Open your eyes," Hannibal commands, and when Will shakes his head, stubbornly refusing, Hannibal growls, and moves, straddling Will's chest and sitting on him hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He slaps Will sharply across his reddened cheek, and Will gasps.

But he opens his eyes.

Hannibal smiles, wide. "Oh, my poor boy," he purrs, as Will trembles beneath him. Hannibal pets over his face, cups his chin, thumbs at his lower lip to get him to show his teeth. Will's upper lip twitches in a half-formed snarl, and Hannibal laughs, makes it cruel and cutting. "You poor, stupid little boy. So desperate for me that you couldn't even be bothered to check the phone number you were texting."

Will's cheeks flame, his eyes brighten.

"Did you touch yourself, while you were messaging your _father_?" Hannibal continues. Will presses his lips together, and Hannibal knows the answer. "It's a good thing you didn't call him, isn't it, darling? Imagine your father, listening to his son touching himself while he begged for his _daddy_."

Will winces. "Stop," he begs.

But Hannibal can feel, between his legs, Will's cock stirring. Oh, _that_ is interesting.

"Stop?" he repeats, taunting. "Oh, no. I'm very upset with you, Will. I'm starting to think you're not as selective with who you beg for as I would like."

He slides back, sitting on Will's welted thighs, and takes his hardening cock in hand. He still has the pointer by the handle, and holds Will by his cockhead, stretching him tight, and taps – lightly, but firmly – along the shaft again. Will spasms, trembling, and tries to jerk away, but he can't. Hannibal has him caught.

"I don't like to think of you as a whore, Will," Hannibal adds, "but this is certainly damning evidence."

Will's cock twitches in his hand, even as Hannibal strikes him again. His eyes well up with fresh tears and he snarls, shaking his head fiercely, clutches his phone and puts his fists in his hair.

"It was a mistake!" he cries.

"A mistake," Hannibal taunts again. "Do you think I am so reckless, Will? What would your family think, if they knew what you liked to do with bigger, stronger men like me." Will sucks in a breath, sobbing without sound. "I bet your father can imagine you now, getting on your knees for anyone with a deep enough voice and a thick enough cock." Will flinches, for Hannibal swears so rarely, but whenever he does it affects him deeply. "That you're spreading your legs and begging for come wherever you can get it."

"Please stop," Will begs, as Hannibal sets the pointer down and swats his cockhead, gently – he doesn't want to truly harm Will – but hard enough that he shrieks and writhes in pain. Still, he is hard, and starting to leak. "Please, please, I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Will? For finally showing me what a desperate, dirty little boy you are, or for getting caught?"

"Daddy, _please_."

"Oh, you're asking for me, or for your other 'daddy'?" Hannibal snarls. "Perhaps we should call him. Give me your phone."

Will's eyes snap open, and he whimpers. "No," he says, and clutches it to his chest like it's the only thing keeping him alive. His face and neck are so red, the stench of his fear and his arousal in equal measure are intoxicating. Hannibal's mouth waters.

He growls, and hits Will's cock more harshly, making him sob. "That wasn't a request."

Will whines, but hands him the phone. Hannibal smiles sharply, unlocks the phone so that Will can see him pull up his father's number, and presses the phone icon. He puts it on speaker, and it starts to ring, and Will sobs, biting his knuckles to stop himself making a sound.

"Will?" The voice is obviously his father, Southern twang but undoubtedly from the same stock. Hannibal gentles his hand, and begins to stroke Will, slow and tight, just as he likes. Will's eyes clench tightly shut, and tears spill out from the corners.

"Good afternoon, Mister Graham. This is Doctor Lecter; I'm a colleague of Will's at the university."

"Oh." He clears his throat. "Yes. How can I help you?"

"I wanted to call and apologize," Hannibal says quietly, smiling when Will's body shakes, his cock full and heavy and so hard. Hannibal sets his knees over Will's bruised thighs, presses his hurt ass more firmly to the floor, and Will clamps a hand over his mouth so he doesn't scream. "We were all just attending a work function, and a mutual colleague of ours got a hold of Will's phone and sent some rather inappropriate messages to several of his contacts. I do hope it hasn't caused any inconvenience."

Oh the other end of the line, Will's father makes a sound that is very obviously relieved. "Well, okay. No, it wasn't an inconvenience. Worried me a little, but, yeah. Okay." Hannibal doesn't know whether the man genuinely believes him, or simply wants to, but he'll take it. "Is Will alright?"

"Oh, yes," Hannibal purrs. "He had a little too much to drink, but he's in good hands, I assure you."

For emphasis, he squeezes Will's cock, and Will whimpers.

"Thank you, Doctor Lecter. I'll just delete these, ah, messages. Please have him text me when he wakes up so I know he's alright."

"Of course. Thank you for your time, Mister Graham," Hannibal says, and ends the call. Will gasps, freeing his mouth immediately, and Hannibal sets the phone down, and cups Will's face. "There we go, darling, all taken care of."

Will sobs, and clutches at his hand, turns his face and kisses Hannibal's palm. "Thank you, daddy."

"I trust you'll be more careful in the future."

Will nods, frantically, and opens his eyes. Their gazes meet, finally, and though Will is still clearly humiliated by the whole ordeal, Hannibal is glad to see that shameless creature blink at him, perked up, and eagerly following the trail of Will's arousal now. Hannibal smiles, and kisses him deeply, stroking his cock with renewed pace.

"I'd like you to finish now, Will," he purrs, and kisses Will again. Will swallows, and tenses beneath him. "My poor, sweet boy. It's alright; I'm not angry with you at all, darling. Show me how much you appreciate what I did."

Will whimpers, and clenches his jaw, coming with a rough sound over Hannibal's hand. He sobs, more tears spilling, simply too overwhelmed to blink them back.

He clutches at Hannibal desperately. "Thank you, daddy. Thank you."

Hannibal smiles, and smears Will's come all over his face, before he rises, and undoes his own clothes enough to free his erection. Will gasps, eyes going black, and stares up at him openly. Hannibal yanks on Will's hair, making him rise, and feeds Will his cock, pushing to the back of his throat in one smooth thrust, until Will chokes, and moans around it. He works Will's face up and down his cock until he feels his orgasm rushing low, and pulls out, stroking himself with his dirty hand as he coats Will's face in his come.

Will's lashes flutter, making sure it doesn't go in his eyes, but it coats his bruised lips, his red cheeks, up over his forehead and across the bridge of his nose. Hannibal smiles, and loves the scent of himself on Will, still with that sweet honey and cranberry scent of his distress. Wonderful seasonings for fresh meat.

He lets Will go after wiping his hand clean in Will's hair, and corrects his clothes. "You will remain like that for the rest of the night," he says sternly, and Will flushes, and nods, sitting up straight. "And I trust, in future, you will be more forthcoming whenever something like that is bothering you."

Will swallows, and says, very quietly. "Yes, daddy."

Hannibal smiles. "Good boy. Now, go fetch our drinks, and we will remain in here until it's time to go to bed."

Will nods, rises on unsteady, injured legs, and hastens to obey.


End file.
